Wine and Whimsy
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: She's drunk. Drunk, and giddy and throwing her arms around his neck.


For **MOBAZAN27** prompt at the end. Sorry it took me so long.

* * *

She's drunk.

Drunk, and giddy and throwing her arms around his neck. Kate mushes her face to his for kisses too hard and rough, and _eager_ , to be anything less dainty than a body slam.

He yelps as she squeals on, unaware.

"I moved _in_."

"You did."

She's said it a good few times since they tore through the second bottle and he knows _that_ wine and _this_ woman are a rare combination, but the sheer loopiness of her is a sight to behold. Kate Beckett is gabbling manically, excitedly making plans, more handsy than an octopus and bouncing up and down in his lap. He's a lucky, lucky man. And tomorrow he may well buy a stake in that wine company.

"I live _here_ now," she whispers, tongue wickedly tracing the shell of his ear in a way that makes his entire body tense up _and_ shiver all at once. It drives him crazy, and she knows it. He growls, she's giggling, not the least little bit sorry. She does it again, blows air, wet and hot, lips light, making his shoulders hunch up trying to protect his ears.

She's always been mean to his ears.

He's said that outloud.

His mouth opens and he realises a second too late, her laughter dying on her tongue. Her smile remains, at least until his eyes lift to hers. She pouts then, mockery in the move, kissing him, mumbling something about _boo boos_.

Her kiss is hungry and slow, sudden fire behind the burning press of her hands, the heat of her thumbs on his jaw. There's less violence in the way her body collides with his now, less _ommph_ more _ahh_ with each touch, each reminder they're both still naked and spread before a roaring fire.

His fire.

 _Their_ fire.

Because she moved in.

He loses himself in the thought and misses her mouth a second too late to drag her back. She's off again, smiling and happy.

Rambling.

She can hold her liquor but clearly not her tongue.

"I live in a Castle _with_ Castle," she giggles against his lips, rolling, draping herself over him. She lingers there, above him, as though letting the idea sink in. Her hair falls over one shoulder and the fire throws flashes of golden light over her skin, leaving her honey drenched and saccharine sweet.

It suits her, this craziness, this jumbled joy and alcohol fueled revelry. She mumbles inanities of love into the skin below her fingertips, words he doesn't quite catch, still tangled up in her last sentence.

She paints his face and he catches her kiss, just barely.

"What?"

"In a Castle, with _my_ Castle." She swoops again, searching hands and nipping teeth all distracting him from the random ideas and strange declarations that are the usual, delightful, side effect of _that_ wine.

"All mine," she hums, somehow loose and pliant, languid yet buzzing with this intoxicating craziness.

"All yours," he aggrees, chuckling when a dirty grin spreads wide across her cheeks. " But hardly a Castle," he's downplaying his attachment and she knows it.

"I like it here," she sighs, knowing that he likes that too, "always have."

She moved in. While she may still have a lease and an address for mail, an empty apartment that idles by for late night case full body flops or obnoxiously loud sex, the things that make her who she is are _here_.

Where she wants to be.

* * *

There's something to be said for it, this heady feeling coursing through her, wine and whimsy it may be, she's fairly certain that ninety percent of it (give or take two bottles) is down to him.

Him, and his sudden naked strut to the fridge. Him, and his infectious smile.

She moved in. Her head drops to the cocooned shield of her bent elbow, the flame of sappy happiness lighting her cheeks, refusing to be hidden as it scalds her arm. She moved in, and every second since has been giddy and silly.

She's never felt more safe.

More happy.

With a fireplace that warms, walls that protect and a mighty sentinel that guards by the name of love.

"Wow."

He's back then, laughing, rolling with her, stroking her hair away from her face and repeating her words because, _shit_ , she said them outloud. No amount of wine has ever made her that love drunk.

It's him, the man, _The_ Castle.

The only explanation.

And _he's_ far too delighted with the whole thing, "No more wine for you, it makes you crazy."

She hits out then, light palm falling flatly against his chest, idling too long over muscle for it to be anything other than a caress.

He laughs and she growls, " _You_ make me crazy."

His fingers drift, making promises and blunt contradictions.

Not _yet_ , not crazy _enough_.

Kate curls her toes in the heat that radiates from the fire, once feline limbs and satisfied smile uncurl, taken over by lust the further she sinks into the rug.

She pulls him with her, round three all tipsy declarations, laughter and silliness. Hands and lips and the taste of that wine chased across skin soaked with sweat. His voice as he whispers and reminds her - she moved in. She deserves a proper welcome.

* * *

 **PROMPT:**

Living with Castle:Fireplace that warms, walls that protect and a mighty sentinel that guards by the name of love.


End file.
